


Threadbare

by Oliphaunt1089



Category: Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Blood, Everything goes from bad to worse, Hurt Peter, Michelle and Ned go after him, Peter Needs a Hug, Peter is in trouble, So does everyone else probably, Sort of like an Easter egg hunt but with blood and stuff, Tony will show up in like chapter 10, Whump, dad tony, serious injury
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2019-01-07 21:43:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 17,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12241179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oliphaunt1089/pseuds/Oliphaunt1089
Summary: Peter is missing after a night of being Spiderman, and Ned and MJ take it into their own hands to find him. Features alternate chapters of Peter's POV.





	1. Less fun than algebra

Ned woke to his third alarm blaring the imperial march from Star Wars in his left ear. Great. That meant he'd overslept.

Breakfast wasn't an option, and he barely had time to shove his books in his bag before slipping out the door and dashing off to school. His phone notifications read one message from Peter. That was ok. Whatever it was he'd probably find out from the man himself in half an hour.

The bell was ringing as he burst through the door and grabbed the first seat he could find at the back of the class, earning a stern look from the teacher but no further trouble. Phew. It had been a close one. As he dumped his bag under the desk, he glanced around, expecting to see Peter trying to catch his eye, probably to give him a thumbs up for making it on time. Instead, all he got was MJ giving him one of those quizzical stares that seemed to bore right through him and made him uncomfortable in his intestines.

On reflex, he slipped his phone out from his pocket and checked the one message Peter had sent at 4:16 AM. To his surprise, it was a picture, and a blurry one at that. He could barely make out the sign on the shop window that said "Mexican food, open 9AM - 11PM", since a large silver car was obscuring most of the shot anyway. What was that supposed to mean? Unease gnawed at his stomach as he quickly shot Peter a message.

_dude, where are you?_

It wasn't like he was expecting an immediate reply. His chest still constricted with every passing moment that the message went unanswered.

_are you ok?_  
_What's that picture all about?_  
_Please just answer you're making me worried_  
_Peter_  
_PETERRR_

At the end of first period, Ned slipped down one of the quiet hallways and pressed the call button. It went to voicemail three times before he gave up and called May. It was a brief phone call because she was driving and sounded very flustered, but Ned gleaned that she hadn't seen Peter either and was doing all that she could to gain Tony Stark's attention on the matter. From the recent news, however, Ned doubted Mr Stark would be able to help this time.

A stone seemed to settle at the bottom of his stomach. This was bad.

"Hey loser," MJ's voice sounded behind him, and Ned almost jumped out of his skin.

"Hey, don't sneak up on me like that," he complained.

"Huh. I thought you seemed a little tense. Where's loser number 2 today then? Skiving off to save the world?"

MJ knew Peter's little secret, which made her the singular person Ned could confide in about this. Right now, he was infinitely grateful for that.

"I don't know," he said, panic edging it's way into his voice, "he won't answer his calls, and he sent a message at 4 in the morning but it's just a blurry photo. Look!"

He shoved the phone under MJ's nose, and she observed it coolly. "I vaguely recognise that," she offered. "Come on."

"What are you doing? Where are we going?" Ned exclaimed as they passed through the main school gates, MJ striding so fast that he had to skip to keep up. The next lesson would be starting in two minutes, but it didn't look like she had any intention of attending it.

When she stuck out her hand to hail a taxi, Ned knew he had no hope of stopping her. They were going to be in so much trouble.

The taxi pulled up at the Mexican restaurant within ten minutes and they tumbled out, taking in their surroundings as it drove away. It was a moderately busy street, with shops on both sides and a steady trickle of pedestrians shouldering their way past, despite it being the middle of a weekday. There was no sign of a silver car anymore, but directly opposite them was a garage and car wash, closed for the day with a smashed window and a few people walking round a taped-off area in high-vis jackets.

"What's going on there?" Ned hissed to MJ, and she followed his gaze, squinting.

"Looks like a break-in maybe?" she suggested. "Whatever happened, it seems like the sort of place Spiderman would be. We should definitely check it out."

Ned agreed, though he wasn't comfortable with all this sneaking out of school and snooping around, even if they were doing it in broad daylight. Any sort of rule-breaking made him irrationally nervous. But this was Peter they were talking about. He wasn't going home until they'd found Spiderman.

They crossed the road, looking around for any signs of a struggle. As they stepped up to the broken window, a man in yellow came up to them, annoyance in his expression.

"You kids shouldn't be here, this area is off limits. Aren't you meant to be in school?"

MJ looked about to make a rude retort so Ned quickly cut in. "We're sorry, sir. We were just wondering what happened here?"

"It's none of your business. Two guys were arrested, and the money was still on them, so no harm done except for that window there, but the police found traces of blood outside so there's some sort of investigation going on. That's all I know. Now scram!"

He waved them away, and they went this time, sharing a look of "oh shit." Blood on the scene? That either had nothing to do with Peter and they were on a wild goose chase, or else it could mean...well, Ned didn't like to think about what it could mean.

They approached the taped-off area with caution, almost scared of what they might find. In the end, it wasn't much to look at. A dark brown splotch decorated the concrete, with smudged drips leading away from it to the edge of the road, where it stopped abruptly. The fact that it was blood still gave Ned the creeps, but it wasn't nearly as dreadful as he'd imagined.

MJ was eyeing the crime scene with the look that meant puzzle pieces were clicking together in her head faster than another person could hope to follow.

"Give me your phone," she demanded suddenly, pulling her own out of her pocket as well. Ned obediently handed his over and watched, paralysed, as she quickly looked around then _ducked under the tape._ In a second she crouched over the largest bloodstain, held the phones up together for a moment, then dashed back to Ned as a stern policewoman started running towards them. Before Ned could react, MJ had grabbed him by the arm and they were both running, ducking down the first side street and panting against the wall as the shouts behind them died down.

"What the fuck was that?!" Ned wheezed, as MJ leant back casually, appearing to compare the two phones in her hands.

"Did you notice the few pieces of smashed glass to the right of the pool of blood?" she queried. Ned shook his head. "Well, take a look at this." She passed both phones to him, his showing Peter's blurred photo of the Mexican place at 4:16AM and hers showing the picture she had just taken which, apart from the lighting and the absence of the silver car, was almost identical.

"Shit," he breathed, "so you're saying the glass was...?"

"Peter's phone screen, yeah. Which means the blood..."

Ned breathed heavily, his head against the wall and his eyes closed. Suddenly, he straightened. "We've got to find him. Hand me my phone, I have an idea."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming up next: what actually happened to Peter at the car wash. Is he ok? No he's not. Prepare for epic fight scenes and lots of blood :)
> 
> Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated!


	2. 6 hours previously...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter's not doing so good.

Peter cursed into the suit as the three men tumbled out of the large silver car, all carrying guns. He was on his way home; he had only stopped briefly to apprehend a couple of harmless burglars at a car wash, and he hadn't expected them to have friends.

"Really, guys, I've had a busy night and I'd appreciate it if you'd all go home now," he called out as he webbed up the guns, sending them flying out of the men's hands. That was usually enough to send guys like this scarpering, but apparently not these ones. Hand-to-hand combat it was, then. He'd been practising recently, so it was without a second thought that he flipped in and punched the first guy in the face.

The second guy was a bit better at this, dodging some punches and almost getting in some of his own. He was a large man (why were they always large men?) so Peter danced around him fast enough that he was starting to look dizzy. Thinking it was time to end this with a bit of super strength, Peter reached out for the guy's next punch and instead of completely dodging the fist, he caught it in his palm, the way he had done with the Winter Soldier's awesome metal arm.

That was the moment everything went to shit. As soon as fist met palm, electricity surged through Peter, making him convulse in pain as the suit sizzled and the visual display flickered before last-minute switching to manual - a safeguard Peter had suggested to Mr Stark so that he would never be blinded by his own suit. He felt his legs give way beneath him, and as a small part of his brain screamed to let go of the guy's fist, he felt a blow across the face and fell backwards, shaking, the pain receding slowly but the suit completely dead. What remained was better than nothing - a protective shell, and the mechanical functions on his web-shooters - but all communications he had through the suit were completely down. He wondered if Mr Stark would even be notified about this.

It took him a moment too long to recover. While he could see the guy whose punch had fried his circuits, the other two had moved past his peripheral vision, so it was only the hairs on the back of his neck that warned him to jump. Even then, he was a second behind, and blinding pain erupted in his left arm midway through the flip as an iron bolt shot through the space where his chest had been a second before. Concentration shattered, he landed badly and clattered to the ground, every flinch sending daggers up from where the rod of metal stuck through flesh and bone, his blood running in rivulets down the shaft and dripping grotesquely from the wickedly pointed end.

Peter wasn't a novice any more. He knew what sort of trouble he could get out of, and when it was better to call for help. This situation right here? It had catapulted straight from one right into the deep end of the other.

Without the suit, though, his only method of communication was his phone, which was in the top pocket of his bag, which, thankfully, was on his back since he'd been heading home at the moment of the initial burglary. Could he get it in time?

A tug on his injured arm made him cry out in pain, and with a sickening jolt he realised that the iron staff that had pierced right through him had a cable attached to the end, and he was being reeled in like a fish on a line. He was never going to eat fish again.

"Not cool...really not cool..." Peter ground out through his teeth as he reached back for his phone, retrieving it and unlocking it before he even needed to look at the screen. The man with the electric thing on his knuckles was moving in to stop him, so Peter had less than five seconds to hit the camera button on the first conversation that came up - which was Ned's - and press send.

The man's heel came down on his hand the next moment, before Peter could even see whether the message had been delivered, and he felt the glass break and a bone in his little finger crack at the same time. Almost as soon as the foot came down on the phone, it came up again to meet his jaw, sending him sprawling backwards and clutching at his arm, the spikes of pain from the shifting metal assaulting the rest of his senses until all he could see was white hot agony against a throbbing background of red.

He barely noticed being thrown into the back of the car, and it wasn't until the engine hummed to life that his vision finally cleared enough for thoughts to come trickling back into his head.

Shit.

He had to get out of here.

The back of the car seemed to have been converted solely for the purpose of carrying dangerous...people? Animals? Peter didn't know and he didn't think he wanted to. In any case, the back seats had been removed to fit a large cage - large enough that Peter was flung to one side every time the car went round a corner - which effectively barred him from attacking any of the men in the three front seats, and cut off his access to windows and doors as potential escape routes. Great. This was just great.

That said, there was no use thinking about potential escape routes before removing the bolt from his arm. While his stomach churned at the concept, Peter knew he was trapped until he could get it out. The guys in the front didn't seem to be paying him any attention, so as long as he didn't make a noise...

Experimentally, he tugged at the bolt with his right hand, ignoring the broken finger. It was all he could do not to scream at the movement. Tears sprung up in his eyes, and he quickly brushed them away, trying to think of another way round this situation. He really couldn't see one.

At least the piece of metal was smooth all the way down. If it had been proper arrow shape, he might have had to break the cable to pull it out the other way, which could have been much more painful.

The easiest solution seemed to be to clamp his left arm between his feet and pull the bolt out with his right arm. It was easier said than done. Even putting pressure on the broken bones in his forearm was excruciatingly painful, then to move the metal rod on top of that made black dots swim in front of his eyes, and all the while he had to clench his teeth so hard that his jaw was shaking, for fear that he might make a noise and glean the attention of his captors.

After almost passing out about three times, Peter finally let the bloodstained iron rod fall to the floor of the cage while cradling his mutilated arm to his chest, biting his lip in a vain attempt to stop the tears from falling. Blood was welling from the wound and running down his elbow, and somewhere in his brain there were alarm bells going off at the sight of the growing crimson puddle at his feet, but he couldn't focus on that until he got out of here. He had to escape. He had to crash the car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this can't possibly get any worse. Oh wait. It can, and it will. Who's excited? :D
> 
> Comments and kudos make my day!


	3. Police? Yes, please.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ned and MJ continue to follow the trail.

MJ's eyes lit up with a fire of determination as she passed over Ned's phone and he put in the number for the local police. There was a resolve in Ned's stance that he'd not had before.

"Hello? Is this the police?" He let his voice take on a higher pitch, forced confidence oozing off him. "Yeah, I wanted to ask about a car. My dad took his friend's car out last night but I think he might have lost it because he came home drunk and looking awful and now he's asleep and his friend's really mad, but all I know about the car is that it's big and silver, were there any accidents with that sort of car last night? Or suspicious sightings? Or anything?"

He glanced across at MJ, who was looking impressed, as the cop on the end of the line told him that they had indeed found a car of that description driven into the corner of a building early this morning. It was only a few blocks away, so after thanking the man and hanging up before he could ask any awkward questions, Ned and MJ set off at a run towards the location given, hoping against hope that it was the right trail.

MJ looked at her watch. "If we're not back by third period we're gonna miss PE," she said with half a breathless laugh.

"I don't think I ever ran this hard in PE," Ned confessed between wheezes. He was the guy in the _chair_ for a reason. "I really hope I never become a superhero."

"I dunno, if I could get abs from a spider bite then I'd probably go for it," considered MJ, "but that doesn't mean I'd ever put my powers to good or whatever. I think that spider knew what it was doing when it chose Peter."

"Ugh, the world doesn't deserve him," stated Ned.

The scene of the car crash was pretty hard to miss, even though the car itself had been towed away several hours ago. Orange cones bordered the area where smashed glass and even a piece of warped metal had been swept into a pile but not yet cleaned up. Given how small and run-down the street was anyway, Ned doubted the authorities cared very much about leaving a mess. A few feet away, a trash can had been turned on its side and was strewing plastic cartons and food leftovers all over the sidewalk, which Ned and MJ tiptoed round, holding their noses, until suddenly MJ gave an exclamation and bent to pick something off the floor.

A glance at the object sent a shiver of fear down both their spines. It was a single bullet.

"This is getting worse and worse," Ned observed with a grimace, scanning the ground for any more clues. Suddenly he gave a start, and scooped up a little paper object that had been blown against the wall. MJ squinted at it in confusion.

It looked like a little hexagon of folded paper, a couple of inches in diameter and blank on both sides.

"What do you expect to learn from that?" MJ questioned, looking unimpressed.

"Just watch," Ned replied, as he began to fold and unfold the hexagon, seemingly getting nowhere, but suddenly his face lit up and he held it out for MJ to see.

Now one of the faces was no longer blank, but showed Peter's scrawling black writing, even messier than usual, accompanied by a worrying red smudge in the corner. The writing displayed a series of numbers and letters.

"A license plate number?" MJ suggested.

"I think so," agreed Ned, "but if it's a car that someone stole, then there's no point asking the police who it belongs to. We really need a way to track it through the city."

"Who knows, maybe it does belong to one of the bad guys," MJ shrugged.

"Balance of probability," sighed Ned, "but I guess we could try."

"No need. I have something better," MJ replied, phone in hand and scrolling through her contacts.

Ned waited in anticipation as she made the call.

"Hello? FRIDAY, run scan on street data for last night to track the car with this license plate..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What on earth did Ned find? How on earth does MJ have access to FRIDAY? What on earth has happened to Peter? Thank you so much to anyone who has commented on previous chapters, you are wonderful people and you brighten up my day :) I'm always glad when people are enjoying it! Look out for the next chapter coming very soon!


	4. Plans are great. Real life is not.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter is trapped and hurt but still fighting. Picks up directly from chapter 2.

Peter yanked on the webbing attached to the steering wheel and flew to one side as the car swung violently to the right, the front crumpling into the corner of a building and shattered glass flying backwards, bouncing harmlessly off Peter's suit. From the cries up front, the three men weren't doing so well.

"Shit!"

"Fuck man! I'm outta here!"

"What the fuck do we do now?"

"Ditch the vehicle, find another."

"And the spider guy?"

"We'll just make sure he can't cause any more trouble."

Peter didn't hear if they said anything after that because the three men had extracted themselves from the car and now two were snooping around while the third hurried off in the opposite direction. He leant against the side of the cage, exhausted. The plan had failed, in that the cage hadn't smashed on impact, but that still meant he would have a chance for freedom when they unlocked it to move him to the next vehicle.

Speaking of the next vehicle...he rolled onto his knees and peered out of the side window. By the looks of it, the two men were trying to hot-wire an old car, and somehow or other they hadn't set the alarm off. Peter suddenly had a gloomy thought: this was a perfect method for losing the trail of the police, so if anyone managed to track him this far, they probably wouldn't get any further. The trail of breadcrumbs that started with the picture sent from his phone was a meagre one, but he couldn't let it hit a dead end. But how to do it without gaining suspicion? He couldn't just drop a note saying "hi, Spiderman here, I'm being kidnapped in an old black car and here's the license plate number!"

Or could he? Struck by an idea, he shrugged off his bag painfully and rifled through with one hand until he found what he was looking for: a pen, and a small hexagonal piece of folded paper.

He had first discovered flexagons in the Murderous Maths books when he was about ten, but forgotten about them until years later when Ned had been debating how much maths there actually was in origami and he felt the urge to google them again. After that they had both learned how to make and flip the mysterious paper shapes.

Double-checking the license plate just as one of the men started walking back towards him, Peter scrawled down the numbers and letters then flipped the flexagon until it was blank on both sides, shoving the pen back in his bag and the bag on his back. He would try and make a break for it as soon as the cage opened, but if he couldn't then it would be simple enough to drop the flexagon from his fist and hope that someone found it.

The car door swung open, and a key was fitted to the lock. Peter subtly crouched in readiness. A click, and the cage door opened for him.

He moved faster than a blink of the eye, but his foot had barely touched the tarmac when two successive gunshots blasted in his ears, and a second later he stumbled, gasping in shock, as his pain receptors remembered how to function and fire flared up from his shoulder and chest on the right side of his body. The man had shot him! Twice! Every breath was agony, and his cry of despair turned into a coughing fit that sent him collapsing to his knees, the small piece of paper fluttering out of his hand as he desperately clawed at the bottom of his mask, trying to free the lower part of his face.

Panic might have engulfed him then, but he had no time to even begin worrying because something hard collided with the side of his head and everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohhh no. This isn't looking good. Will MJ and Ned even be in time, or is it already too late to save Peter?
> 
> Tomorrow is the day I get flung into academia again after a very long and nice summer break. Wish me luck!


	5. Too much blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turns out trailing criminals is dangerous and scary. Who knew?

"How on earth did you get access to FRIDAY?" exclaimed Ned in awe as MJ ended the call and shoved the phone back in her bag.

"Oh, it was simple enough. I got Mr Stark's personal number, and remember that tech assignment we had a couple of weeks ago?"

"Yeah?"

"I called him up about it several times, so eventually he just set my calls to forward through the AI." She grinned. "Sometimes being persistently annoying can be extremely useful."

They hailed a taxi to the place where street cameras had last spotted their runaway car, then set off exploring on foot. Unlike the previous two places, there was no evidence of police activity here, and that made it just a little bit scarier when the alleyways got narrower and the buildings loomed menacingly. They had no idea whether they'd taken the right route, and were starting to consider going back to their starting point, when MJ pointed.

"Look!"

It was indeed the car they had been following, the license plate grinning at them mockingly while sporting a reddish-brown smudge all down one side. Ned felt sick.

"Whoever took Peter has to be hiding somewhere round here," he said hesitantly, "which means this could be, like, super dangerous."

MJ's expression hardened. "You don't want to stop here and go back, do you?"

"No way."

"Good. Because we're getting Peter back."

Cautiously they edged their way towards the car, noticing that the left tail light had been kicked out and both quietly hoping that it boded well for Peter. While MJ wandered round the front of the car, commenting that the driver's side window was broken and the car looked like it had been hot-wired, Ned crouched to pick up something he'd noticed on the ground just underneath the right back wheel. As he straightened and held it up to the light, his heart dropped to his stomach. MJ glanced up, and her face drained of all colour.

It was the t-shirt Peter had worn to school the day before, white with the words "6.022140857x10^23 guacas = 1 guacamole" in green on the front. It was drenched in blood.

As MJ came closer to take a better look, she let out a strange sort of hiccup and brought her hand to her mouth, reaching over to take the crimson garment. Ned relinquished it gratefully and staggered over to the wall of a building, where he sat down hard and stared in horror at his own hands, rubbing them together as if to remove some phantom speck of blood.

"Ugh, don't go all Lady MacBeth on me Ned," MJ attempted to joke, but it fell flat so instead she bundled up the t-shirt and shoved it in her bag, coming over to sit next to him on the ground. "It might not be his blood..." she suggested quietly. There was no reply. They both knew better than to deceive themselves that far. "So what do we do now?"

"I don't know," Ned admitted in a small voice, putting his head in his hands. "I don't know if I can do this, MJ. It's more than I signed up for, by a long way."

Michelle patted his shoulder. "It kinda feels like we just volunteered to take the ring to Mordor, pal."

That got a weak smile out of Ned. "I'm glad I didn't have to do this alone."

"Jeez, you know it's bad when nerds start getting sappy. Come on, Peter needs us so it doesn't matter that we're ten miles out of our depth. No one's going to do this for us." She rose to her feet and held out a hand for Ned, who took it with a set expression.

"We ought to check the area for any sign of a struggle," he suggested, "then if we can't find anything, check the buildings. Someone might have a secret hideout in one of them."

"Secret hideout? Seriously?"

"Well the Vulture had one," Ned shrugged. "I dunno, I just don't think they would lock up Spiderman in a furnished apartment."

"Fair enough."

They split off and began to scan the area for anything that might lead to Peter, but they had barely gone a few steps when a door opened at the bottom of the left-hand building and a greasy-haired man stepped out. He looked like one of those people who were permanently angry, and he had a long graze up one forearm which made him even more intimidating. Ned began silently wishing for him to go away and ignore them, but instead the man paused and narrowed his eyes.

"This neighbourhood ain't kind to loiterers," he barked suddenly, "what're you snooping around here for?"

Ned immediately went into panic mode. "We...er...live there," he pointed to the adjacent building and could almost hear MJ's mental face-palm. Oh well. They'd have to run with it now. "We were...um...just going home."

"Go on then," the man sneered, folding his arms, and Ned realised that they would have to actually go inside before the man left them alone.

"Um...ok," he said, turning and grabbing MJ by the wrist on the way past, leading them into the lobby of the building he had pointed to.

Luck was on their side at that moment; a woman was leaving just as they got there so they managed to slip through the door without needing a key. Looking back, Ned made sure the man hadn't followed them before sagging against the wall.

"I'm so sorry," he breathed, "I'm an idiot in unexpected situations. What are we going to do now?"

MJ shrugged. "Ride the lift a couple of times then hope that guy's gone away?"

"Sure," Ned agreed for lack of a better plan, so thirty seconds later they were standing side by side in the slightly rusty, slightly rickety lift, looking at the floor buttons.

As soon as Ned noticed it, he knew MJ had as well. The button for the seventh - and top - floor was discoloured by a faint smudge of blood. MJ pushed the button before Ned even needed to say anything, and they shared a look of grim purpose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops, I skipped a day. Well, I did warn you I'd be busy! Thanks so much to people who commented last chapter, you keep me going :)
> 
> But what have Michelle and Ned found now? Hit me with your theories!


	6. Can I just go home now?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter is (still) in deep trouble. Can he escape?

Sometimes, Peter would wake from nightmares about freezing rivers and collapsing buildings and burning planes, only to realise he was safe in his bed, Aunt May peacefully asleep next door and the Vulture behind bars. This time, it felt like waking from a deep and effortless sleep, straight into a living hell.

His first emotion was "oh shit."

He was lying on his side in a dark boot of a car, which rumbled unhappily beneath him with every acceleration. He didn't know where he was going, or if he was going to get out of this.

The second emotion was pain.

Through the dull throb that permeated his skull, he could feel nothing but fire from his arm and chest which made his stomach clench and his thoughts swim with every jolt of the vehicle. It was all he could do not to be sick. With all the willpower he had left, Peter pulled himself together enough to assess his injuries.

Sticky blood now coated his arm in an extra layer of red, but in addition he had two new holes in his chest and one in his back - or so he guessed, because it felt like the bullet near his shoulder had gone right through. The other was lodged near his lungs somewhere, but given that he hadn't choked to death yet he figured it had either missed or that his healing factor was working overtime to keep him from drowning in his own blood. What a cheery concept.

A chill ran up his spine and he shivered suddenly, clamping his teeth together in an effort not to cry out at the painful movement. The car boot wasn't freezing cold, but the heating circuits in the suit were just as fried as Karen herself, and as practical as spandex was for swinging around the city, the suit was shitty at insulating.

That said, Peter wasn't sure the shivering was entirely to do with the cold. He'd read enough first aid advice on the Internet to recognise that he might be going into shock, but the question was whether he could remember what it said to do. The first thing that came to mind was removing any skin-tight clothing. That almost made him laugh. Okay, so he couldn't do that, but what else? Something about a blanket? Or was that from Sherlock? Surely in all his late-night Wikipedia surfing he must have come across something useful...if only his head could stop throbbing for a moment he might remember...

After a minute or two he gave up on trying to be smart. He would just do the most obvious thing, which was to try and stop the bleeding, and he wondered why hadn't just done that first.

He still had his bag on him, which was nothing short of miraculous, so he managed to fumble around in it long enough to find his t-shirt. There might have been a triangular bandage if he'd managed to look further - he'd taken to carrying around some basic first aid supplies for emergency occasions - but in the dim light and with only one working arm it was too much effort. Clumsily, he wrapped the t-shirt round his left arm, wincing with each movement, then pressed the wrapped appendage across his chest where the bullet wounds were. It was a rough solution, and a temporary one, but it made Peter feel a little better anyway.

He had to get out of here. Properly, this time.

Vaguely, Peter remembered some advice he'd read for being kidnapped in the back of a car. Something about kicking the tail lights out from inside? It seemed worth a shot. It took him a while to fumble around with his feet, finding what felt like a weak spot, before kicking with all his might.

Despite his weakness and his injuries, he was still Spiderman, and the glass and plastic smashed on the first hit, creating a gap through which cold air whistled from outside. Now what was he meant to do? Reach through and wave?

The car turned a corner and pulled to a stop, the hum of the engine cutting off to the sound of doors opening and closing. Peter tensed. So it was going to be him versus them, same as last time. He would fight his way out, whatever it took.

He had half a second's warning from his spidey senses before the boot clicked open. Instantly, he rolled through the opening, taking the guys by surprise and landing in a crouch, the t-shirt falling from his arm as he took in the scene in a split-second. The guy standing behind was pointing a gun at him; he webbed that, super strength kicking in as he pulled on the webbing and sent the guy flying over his (very painful) shoulder. Before the other man could react, Peter jumped up and double-kicked him across the chin, causing him to reel back clutching his face.

With both men momentarily out of action, Peter took that as his cue to run. A couple of seconds later he heard shots ring out behind him, but without thinking he vaulted a brick wall halfway down the alley, rolled painfully on the other side and staggered to his feet, then for the first time in several hours, allowed himself to _breathe._ He'd done it. It was time to go home.

His arms felt leaden and his chest felt like someone was repeatedly poking a knife into it rather than just a couple of bullet holes, and for the first time he really noticed the little finger on his right hand, which was swelling up painfully after being stamped on back at the car wash. Experimentally he tried to wiggle it, but it only moved half an inch at most. Oh well. He'd deal with that back in his room.

May was going to be so mad.

Hearing voices the other side of the wall, Peter set off at a nervous jog, trying to ignore the way his head felt too light and the world dipped and swayed slightly around him. Did he even know the way home from here? Maybe he should take the subway, since swinging was out of the question.

A few steps later, he heard a noise from one of the buildings around him and instinctively looked up. A second floor window was opening just ahead of him, and suddenly all the warning alarms in his brain went off, making him skid to a halt just as a masked guy jumped from the window and rolled to his feet, glaring straight at Peter. In his hands was a chainsaw.

So it was one of those days.

"What're you doing, waiting for a forest to grow?" Peter called out, shooting a web at the guy's hands, but the chainsaw whirred to life, slicing through the web as if it were nothing more than string.

Refusing to be disheartened, Peter backed up a few steps and shot a web at the guy's feet, stopping him in his tracks. Again, the chainsaw ripped through the webs and he was free again.

"I've fought plenty of crazy guys in masks with unconventional weapons," Peter conversed casually as he tried shooting webs as fast as he could while distracting the guy, "and it makes a great story, except no one ever believes me. Hey, any chance you could stop moving for a second?"

It wasn't working. Every time Peter shot a web it would get ripped to pieces a second later, and the guy with the chainsaw kept advancing. The only way out Peter saw now was to run, but he couldn't go down the alleyway; with the world spinning around him, he didn't trust his athletic abilities to get him past the lunatic. He couldn't go back either. That left...up?

He picked the opposite side of the alley to the window through which the chainsaw guy had come, shooting a web as high as he could and jumping onto the wall with his feet. His shoulder protested as he abseiled towards the second floor, but like all his injuries, he couldn't afford to cry about it now.

"See ya later, alligator," he called back without thinking, jumping up to the next level and glancing back at the furious man, who was waving his weapon around threateningly but then seemed to accept defeat and let it whir to a halt. Peter was almost halfway up the building. Even by climbing the fire escape, a short way to the left, the man couldn't hope to catch him now.

Another jump, and a wave of nausea washed over Peter, his vision blurring slightly before correcting itself. His head felt like someone had it in a vice. He blinked the feeling away. He was Spiderman; as long as he wore the suit, he was stronger than any of these people, and he could make it back before dawn. Maybe he'd even get an hour of sleep in before school. Sleep sounded good right now.

A bang echoed down the narrow alley, shocking Peter out of his fuzzy thoughts with a stab of agony which tore through his leg, making his vision blur again and his grip fumble until he swung clumsily into the wall, every impact jarring his injured shoulder painfully. Gritting his teeth until his jaw ached as much as his brain, Peter pushed off with his remaining good leg and swung to the left, just as another gunshot rang out and missed him by a millimetre. Once more the man fired, and as Peter leapt outwards, dodging the bullet, he caught a glimpse of him, that horrible greasy face the other side of the wall that had looked him in the eye and shot him twice before at the site of the car crash.

On second thoughts, maybe Peter should have realised that climbing the building would put him in the sights of the two men he'd tried to escape from before, but when you've had your arm broken by a metal rod the length of a baseball bat, been kidnapped then shot twice in the chest/shoulder, and on top of that find yourself face to face with a chainsaw-wielding maniac, you're entitled to a few logistical oversights.

Whether you can afford them is a different matter.

Peter barely felt the shards of glass as he smashed through the window like he had done on the Washington Monument, rolling over in less of a momentum-controlling manoeuvre and more of a guided crash into someone's apartment. This had to be the moment Spiderman got arrested for breaking and entering. Right now, he would welcome it, but he should have known he'd have no such luck. The apartment looked deserted, or at least temporarily abandoned; there was hardly anything in it to indicate a person had ever lived there. Not even a phone that Peter could use to call for help.

He shakily pulled himself to his feet on the side of a bare desk, hissing in pain when he put pressure on his right leg. It would support him - just - but he webbed up the bleeding hole in his thigh with a curse, knowing that running was now out of the question.

Where to go next? He couldn't stay here; he had to assume those men were following him and they had seen which room he'd flown into. He couldn't leave through the ground floor entrance because they'd catch him in a second. Part of him just wanted to knock on apartment doors until someone took pity, but there was no way he was doing that, partly because of his secret identity and the fact that he'd be putting someone else in danger, but also out of pride and a touch of social awkwardness.

The last option, then, was to go up. He wouldn't be able to jump across the roofs, nor would he be able to swing like he normally did, but at least he'd get an idea of where exactly he was, and where he could find a subway station or a public telephone.

He stumbled forward to the door, finding it locked but easy enough to break through, limping down the corridor towards the elevator at the other end. He'd misjudged the capacity of his leg - only about halfway down the hallway he stumbled to one knee, pressing a hand to the webbed-up wound and bringing it away sticky with blood. If he just stayed here, what would happen?

No, that was bad. He'd already thought this through. He had to get up. _Get up._ He could do this.

The elevator seemed a mile away, but Peter managed to get to his feet, leaning heavily on the wall, and drag himself far enough to hit the button for the top floor and collapse wearily as the metal doors creaked shut. His eyes fluttered closed, and for a long moment he just allowed himself to *feel* it all: the pain, the loneliness, the fear - the side of Spiderman he had never envisaged the first time he put on that blue and red suit and set out to help people. What sort of hero was he now, dying in an elevator?

It took him a second, but eventually he realised the answer. _A living one._ That's what he was. As long as there was any life left in him, he'd figure a way to get home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo...things aren't going so great for Peter. But at least he's escaped those men, right? ...right?
> 
> Sorry I didn't get this up last night, I had surprise socialising, which was great but a bit tiring. But perhaps with enough encouragement I might get the next chapter up later today? Comments and kudos really do mean a lot to me!


	7. A textbook example of a New York rooftop.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ned and MJ might have more pressing things to worry about than Peter.

The lift gave a faint ding and the doors opened, depositing Ned and MJ in a small, grubby corridor lined with doors to cheap apartments. No one was around, but to their right a sign pointed to the staircase with access to the roof. It was foreboding instinct rather than any clues that led them to follow that sign, but with a silent acknowledgement of each other, they knew it was the right thing to do.

A chilling wind whistled past them as they stepped out onto the roof, and MJ pulled her jacket tighter around herself, shivering and looking around. Ned followed, wishing he had a coat of some sort.

"What's that over there?" He pointed to a pile of stuff blown to the far side of the roof.

MJ shaded her eyes. "I think I know, and I don't think it's good," she replied. "Still, let's check."

As they approached, it became all too clear what they were seeing. A haphazard pile of books and paper littered the edge of the rooftop, torn pages fluttering in the breeze while broken pens rolled around, leaking ink onto the concrete. Weighed down underneath a far too familiar Spanish textbook was half a very recognisable backpack, ripped savagely across the diagonal with fraying threads flying around in the wind and blowing off the roof into the streets beyond.

Ned sank to his knees, reaching for a tattered piece of paper and holding it in both hands, staring at Peter's scrawling writing that covered the page. "This was due today," he whispered into the air.

Even MJ had lost her usual sarcasm. "We should salvage as much as we can. Peter probably needs the evidence that he didn't just lose all his books again."

She walked to the edge of the roof and cautiously peered over.

"Hey Ned, look at this!"

Ned approached the edge tentatively and followed her gaze. At first he didn't see what she was looking at, but then he noticed the short length of almost invisible spider-silk flapping in the breeze about halfway along one side of the building. With trepidation, he forced himself to look down at the pavement below for any sign that Peter had landed there. A trash can lay on its side, and what appeared to be the second half of Peter's backpack tumbled across the street on a gust of wind, but apart from that there was no sign of Spiderman.

"We'd better go down there and get a closer look," Ned thought out loud, backing away from the edge and returning to scoop up the battered contents of Peter's bag and piece by piece cram them into his own. MJ came to help, picking out the few pens that were not sliced in half and stowing them away in a side pocket.

"Yeah, let's go," she agreed, "and hopefully that guy's gone by now."

They were just entering the elevator again when Ned's phone rang. He glanced at the caller, then sighed.

"It's my mom. I've got to answer this - hi mom...yeah, I know...no, I was in first lesson...seriously, it's fine, I'm with MJ. You know, Michelle...from the decathlon team...that's the thing, we don't know where Peter is...danger? Why would we be in danger? No, it's fine, you don't have to bring me lunch...no I don't know what time I'll be back, this is important..."

They reached the bottom floor and stepped out onto the street, looking around for the man they'd seen before. The coast was clear, as far as they could make out, so MJ led the way round the corner to the street where they'd seen Peter's backpack while Ned continued to talk on the phone.

"...look, mom, I can't go back to school until we find him...no no no it's fine you don't have to come and get me, please...I'm totally safe, I promise...yes I know I'm in trouble but really I need to do this...hold on, there's someone here, stay connected..."

As Ned slowly dropped the phone from his ear and slipped it into his back pocket he let his finger brush the speakerphone button. It was so tempting to just hang up and let his mother believe all was well, but the man who had spoken to them before had just rounded the corner and was walking towards them with a friend in tow, neither of them looking particularly friendly.

MJ took a few steps to stand closer, the second half of Peter's bag hanging from her fingertips.

"You kids clearly aren't from around here," the man sneered, brushing his limp yellow hair out of his dull eyes. "If you were, you'd know better than to go snooping around in stuff that ain't your business. But something tells me," he eyed the bag in MJ's hand, "that this is your business, and that you kids know something."

Panic gripped Ned's chest and he struggled to say something to deny the fact, but the look on his face must have betrayed them completely because the next moment the guy stepped behind MJ and placed a hand on her shoulder that must have been painfully tight, because she winced at the touch, but did not fight back. A second later Ned noticed the butt of a gun pressed into her back and paled, catching her eye in terror. She seemed unnervingly calm, and gave him a quick shake of the head which he guessed meant "don't do anything stupid."

"Now, this'll be real quick and easy if you kids just come with us, nice and calm," the guy said smoothly, jabbing MJ in the direction he wanted to walk. "Any funny business, and you know what happens."

Ned nodded frantically, more scared than he'd ever been but unable to voice it in the fear that these men would do something to MJ. He couldn't afford to make a single mistake. He also couldn't afford to let them be stuck in this situation.

As the guy marched ahead with MJ and his friend loitered to make sure Ned followed, Ned reached down as if to scratch his bum, noticing how the man averted his gaze awkwardly, then slipped his hand into his back pocket where his phone was still mid-call and swiped down from the top, tapping where he thought the location button was. His mom was better with computers than he was; she'd figure it out if anyone could. Now he just had to rely on her.

They were taken past the stolen car and into the building they had initially seen the guy coming out of, then led up the stairs to the second floor. This was a smarter building than the one next door, which seemed surprising to Ned until he spotted a sign pointing the way to "private offices", which he assumed were the other side of the building. Maybe there was a different entrance for those or something. Three doors down the second guy fitted a key to a lock and kicked it open with a creak, greeting them with a view of the most shoddy apartment Ned had ever seen.

The bed was missing one of its legs and stood instead on a mixed pile of books, newspapers and cardboard boxes. The accompanying table was bare except for a lamp which presumably had once been covered by a lamp shade, but was now nothing but a bulb with wires sticking out. A small sink stood in the corner of the room next to a closed door that looked like either a closet or an en suite, though Ned could hardly imagine that a room like this had a large bathroom of its own. A small alcove showed a gap in the paint on the walls and several holes where something like an oven or a fridge should presumably be connected. Altogether, the place was a wreck unfit for human habitation. Ned wondered whether either of the guys actually stayed here or whether they were just using it for kidnapping suspicious-looking fifteen-year-olds.

He had about five seconds to take in the apartment before being shoved onto a three-legged stool the right height for a five year old, MJ sinking into the creaking and wobbly spinning desk chair beside him. The door behind them slammed ominously closed.

He was sure MJ must have had the same thought he did: if these guys cared what they were doing around that car and with Peter's backpack, they must be involved somehow with Spiderman. That meant that Peter could be close. Really close.

"Now, you're going to answer our questions directly, no buts, no tangents, no lies," the greasy-haired man spoke, leaning right in their faces as he did so. Ned saw MJ wrinkle her nose.

"You're only intimidating because of that gun," she told the guy unapologetically.

"Yeah, you're not even very good kidnappers," Ned said, taking a chance, "and we could find your apartment again easily. Second floor, third door on the right."

"Intelligent kid, then? You been paying attention? Then tell me this," the guy squinted at Ned, who tried to put on his most neutral face but suspected he was failing badly, "whose backpack do you have there? A school friend's, perhaps?"

There was a pause, in which Ned failed to think of a good answer that wouldn't give away Peter's identity or the fact that they knew they were trailing Spiderman, then he made a snap decision. He closed his mouth firmly and crossed his arms over his chest, glaring up at the guy in defiance. Not another word would leave him until these guys let them go.

MJ seemed to catch on, and when they posed the same question to her she kept her usual quick-witted remarks to herself, answering them instead with a stony death-stare reserved only for people she hated with her entire being.

So the interrogation went on, and while the men became increasingly frustrated, it seemed clear that they were reluctant to use violence on two kids that could so easily rat them out upon release. A couple of times the slimy man looked as if he were about to hit MJ, but a look from the other one silenced him on both occasions.

Finally it became too much and suddenly Ned was being dragged to his feet by the front of his hoodie, face inches from the other guy's nose and close enough to smell his awful breath.

"Now listen here you little shit," he snarled, "you're going to tell me what you know or-"

He broke off as a clatter sounded in the hallway and someone banged loudly on the door.

"Police! Open up!"

Both men swore under their breaths as they exchanged frantic looks, then one of them pointed to the small door in the corner and the other nodded quickly. Before Ned knew what was happening, they were being manhandled through the door and into a tiny tiled room that was barely big enough for the two of them.

"Hey," MJ said, loud enough for the people in the corridor to hear, "Don't touch me!"

A moment later she gasped in pain as the slimy guy slammed a fist across her face. "Stay quiet if you value your lives, and don't say anything to the police if you ever want to see your web-slinging friend again."

The door shut on them, and Ned heard a bolt being slid across on the outside. MJ was clutching her cheek, eyes blazing.

"That bastard," she hissed, "he knows exactly where Peter is."

Ned thought for a moment. "You know, I'm not sure he does." MJ looked puzzled, so Ned continued, "well, from the way he was questioning, I think he wanted to know if _we_ knew where Peter was, or at least anything about him. Both the guys seemed a little jumpy. If I had to guess, they had Peter at one point, but he escaped, and now they're worried."

The sound of a door breaking came from outside their little prison, followed by the raised voices of police. Very soon they would be out of here.

"But if these guys had him, might he have been in this very room?" MJ suggested urgently, turning in the cramped space and looking around.

Ned also glanced at the walls. A hole in the floor indicated where a toilet had once been, but that did not look like a likely escape route. The door handle was broken off on the inside, so any escape through there would involve sheer force, and the fact that the lock on the outside was still working negated that option. Then Ned's eyes fell on the vent in the ceiling. It had been taped over with duct tape, and that was what gave it away.

"MJ, you've got to go through the vents."

"What?" She didn't look impressed.

"Well I'll never fit. It's got to be you. Come on, I've got some scissors in my bag, we can get it open then I'll give you a leg-up."

"Are you absolutely sure this is where Peter went?" MJ asked reluctantly.

"Positive," Ned replied, "and we have to do this before the police let us out."

It didn't take long to rip the duct tape off and open the vent, but actually managing to lift MJ high enough to crawl inside took a little longer, since she could not crawl on walls. The sound of a scuffle outside filtered through the heavy wooden door just as Michelle's foot disappeared over the edge of the opening and she was gone.

As his friend's quiet shuffle faded out through the open vent above him, Ned listened carefully at the door as he tried to discern what was going on. It wasn't exactly quiet; someone was fighting someone else, and suddenly there was a bang followed by two sets of running footsteps closely followed by yells, a bit of murmuring, then two more slightly uneven sets of footsteps retreating swiftly out of earshot. Then there was silence.

Ned was alone.

He quickly checked his phone. The call with his mom had finished accidentally a couple of minutes ago, so he typed a short text.

_police here, everything's ok now, thanks for calling them xxx_

Barely ten seconds later the reply came,

_You are in so much trouble. Glad you're safe. Let me know when you're at the police station and I'll come collect you. Xxx_

The blatant lie made him feel awful, but he was in enough trouble as it was and he didn't want to worry his mom more. Also, he wasn't in immediate danger, which made it fine, right?

The room outside sounded totally deserted. That was good...he guessed? No evil guys to stop him getting out, but then again, no police to open this door from the outside.

That left him one question. How was he going to get out of here?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stuff's getting serious now! Also, I'm running out of material - as with my previous multi-chapter story, I had most of this written beforehand, but it turns out that updating nearly every day means I'm catching up fast. Time to start frantically typing! Comments and kudos are fantastic motivation because I know there's someone out there enjoying it as much as I am. In any case, thank you so much for sticking with me this far :)


	8. Not what I signed up for

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brace yourselves.

With the very last of his strength, Peter heaved himself up the final step and onto the rooftop, feeling the biting wind ripping through his suit and chilling him to the bone. Exhausted beyond belief, he lay on his side for a moment, curled into the foetal position and willing himself to move past his injuries for just long enough to get home.

His usual superhuman senses were foggy at best as they contended for brain space with the crippling pain of three bullet wounds and a broken arm, but the sound of a chainsaw starting up was loud in Peter's ears and made his heart jolt in the way that it sometimes did when his alarm clock was too loud, but a hundred times worse.

With hard determination coiling itself round his emotions once more in a strangling grip of steel, he narrowed his eyes and pushed himself to his feet, stumbling once when he put too much weight on his right leg but managing to correct himself, facing off the masked man who stood at the other end of the roof by the fire escape with a chainsaw buzzing in his hands.

On the bright side, at least it wasn't a gun.

On the downside, there was nowhere to run. The desperate struggle to escape these people was finally coming to a head; no matter how many times he almost got away, they always seemed to follow him, so at last Peter was left with no alternative but to throw this guy off a building. Or something. He hadn't quite figured out that part yet. His main objective right now was to stay alive, but that meant beating this guy, so he'd have to think fast.

Scene-assessing time was over when the man started running at full pelt towards Peter. The first attack came in the form of an overhead swipe, which he easily dodged, letting the guy overshoot and nearly trip over before skidding to a halt and turning back around.

The second run was more controlled, aiming the chainsaw for Spiderman's torso but Peter rolled round behind the guy and punched him in the back, doing no real damage but throwing him off slightly.

It seemed like the guy had expected Peter to be less nimble from his injuries; he seemed surprised every time Peter dodged an attack or managed to get a hit in. Nothing that Peter did seemed to stop him, though, and it seemed like nothing short of stealing the chainsaw would be any help whatsoever. He tried that, a couple of times, but each time it inevitably ended in a too-close encounter with loud sharp spinning metal.

Dodging a chainsaw was tiring, Peter found. He was pretty sure he was running off nothing but adrenaline now, allowing him to stay half a step ahead of the other guy at most times, but as their fight drew closer and closer to the edge he found himself taking more risks to stay clear of falling off.

The chainsaw came round in a low arc and he side-flipped over the top, missing it by inches, then struck out at the maniac's masked face. The guy dodged, then brought his weapon back the other way causing Peter to duck backwards, kicking up at the man's balls and landing a solid hit.

The guy doubled over, but still lashed out with the chainsaw so that Peter had to back up closer to the edge than comfort. Another wild swing, and there was nowhere to dodge; Peter barely kept his balance as his heel slipped and hung perilously off the edge while the chainsaw ripped a shallow cut straight across his chest shearing the spider emblem in half and drawing blood.

As the guy prepared for another swing, Peter knew he had to do something before he either fell or got cut in half. With energy he didn't know he still possessed he leapt high above the man, tumbling through the air, but the madman diverted his swing last-minute and brought his chainsaw upwards just as Peter was above him, cleaving through whatever it could find as Spiderman spun overhead.

Peter rolled clumsily at the other side of the guy with a guttural cry of anger. His back smarted from another shallow cut, but worse was the state of his bag, which had been bisected ruthlessly. Half of it had already fallen from his shoulders with all its contents, and he shrugged off the other half, watching it flutter away mournfully.

He felt like an animal now, fighting for his life. The chainsaw revved, and the man advanced once again on Peter.

"What's the problem, slowcoach?" Peter quipped, skipping to one side and ducking behind the guy before he could even try to attack. Quick as a flash, he swept one leg around and took the man's feet out from under him, leaping out of the way of the chainsaw as the guy clattered to the ground, mere inches from the edge.

Peter leapt at the opportunity to grab the chainsaw, struggling to control it with one hand but managing not to chop off any of his own limbs.

Beneath the mask, the man glared angrily, scrambling to his feet. He eyed the chainsaw warily, but then with a roar he charged at Peter, going for his left side where he didn't hold the weapon.

Taken by surprise, Peter yelled as the man knocked him to the ground and gripped his broken left arm fiercely. Spiderman swung the chainsaw clumsily towards the man, vision blurred by pain and internal screaming, then suddenly felt the weight disappear from his chest and arm as another cry rang out and his sight cleared in time to see the guy on his knees, clutching the stump where his hand used to be.

Dizzy and nauseous, Peter struggled to his feet, the chainsaw abandoned, and stumbled backwards away from the scene. Shit, he'd just cut someone's hand off! He didn't even know where he was going, he just needed to get as far away as possible.

It was just as he was turning around, cradling his left arm to his chest, that his spidey senses suddenly pricked up, but he moved to the side a moment too slow and caught the spinning blades of the flying chainsaw on the side of his ribcage where the weapon ricocheted and bounced away, skidding across the concrete.

He yelled and stumbled, blinded by agony as fresh, warm blood poured from the new wound that struck deep enough to hit the bone. Dark spots covered his vision but his balance was off and the ground felt like it was swaying beneath him, then suddenly pain shot through his leg as he put too much weight on it, and before he knew it he was toppling into thin air, the world swooping around him and his stomach hitting the roof of his mouth.

Desperately, he shot a web and clung on for dear life as it found a hold and slowed his fall by catapulting him hard into the side of the building, three floors off the ground. His right shoulder jarred with the impact, reminding him not so nicely of the two bullet wounds that still pained him there - his healing factor had eventually slowed their bleeding, but now the gash in his side was threatening to lose him all the blood he had left. He could feel every newly-severed nerve along every inch of the incision, and the dizziness was making him feel so weak that he almost let go of the web that kept him from falling to his doom.

Through hazy vision he lifted his head to the rooftop, seeing the demonic silhouette of the one-handed chainsaw-wielder crouching over the single thread attached to the dull brick building. Peter couldn't even summon the strength to shout as the chainsaw swung down and cut through his lifeline, and then the ground was swooping up to meet him and he felt a throb of pain in his left ankle before everything blurred into darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it. Peter's dead. Bye guys.


	9. Welcome to Hell. I hope you enjoy your stay.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...angst?

When Peter next opened his eyes, everything was cold and white and _pain, so much pain._ It assaulted his mind, flooded his entire body, took over everything until he was screaming, but the only sound that could make it out of his shuddering lungs was a plaintive moan of agony. Why couldn't he be dead? For a moment, he thought he might be better off dead.

Slowly, all the pain resolved itself into individual messages and he could vaguely think through the bombardment of signals from the mess that was his body.

His hands and feet were zip-tied, although he couldn't feel his left foot at all. His left arm hurt even worse than before in the awkward position in which it had been tied, and the deep gash across his ribs from the chainsaw throbbed again and again with every weak, shallow breath. He had to get out of here. Could he even move? It hurt when he stayed still, so he tried uncurling a little, which hurt more, but he still couldn't stay here. He needed to get out. Get out. Get out. Pain flooded his mind again as he reached the tiled sides of his cage and stuck like a spider, one decent hand and one responsive foot lifting him with effort that made his entire body shake. Or was that just because it was cold?

He barely knew what he was doing as he fumbled his way up the walls, finding a grating and sliding it across - or was it up? - he couldn't really tell any more. The tunnel was cramped and claustrophobic and summoned flashbacks of crushing metal and concrete, water dripping down his face, _no way out, he couldn't get out, he wasn't strong enough, what was he even doing here?_ Sometime between falling off a roof and winding up in that white cell, the sun must have come up, but inside it was dark and cramped and _not enough air, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't-_

The cold metal of another grating met his fingertips. He ignored it and kept moving. Every inch of progress sent him spiralling in agony, feeling every injury and wondering how he was still alive: the fresh gash across his ribs from which blood now dripped steadily, the gut-wrenching, sickening pain in his ankle which he dared not examine, right down to the aching throb in his little finger which was replaced with spears of pain whenever he was too clumsy with his right hand.

Peter was shivering, and it was getting harder and harder to keep everything in focus. The walls seemed to tighten around him and he began to breathe faster, _he had to get out, he had to escape, it didn't matter where._ The next time he came to a grating, he fumbled helplessly to lift it out the way, and only after what felt like an eternity of trying did he finally manage to push it aside and tumble headfirst out of the vent system.

There was a crunch as he landed, and Peter's heart gave a jolt while pain flared from all over his body, but hazily he realised that his fall had broken nothing but the keyboard for someone's computer. He rolled limply off the desk, vaguely recognising an office setting.

_Shit. What if someone arrived for work and found him here? His secret identity would be blown to shreds._

His eye settled on a door in the corner, slightly ajar and leading to a dark cupboard. Peter crawled there, finding just enough floor space to curl up on his right side, fingers ineffectively cradling the bloody gash on the left of his torso in an effort to stem the bleeding. More violent shivers wracked his body and he moaned, helpless to do anything but let darkness bleed into his mind and take him away to blissful emptiness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I hope you enjoyed the end of last chapter. I can't say I'm sorry, it was too fun. Some of you, it seemed, were in hesitant denial, whereas others straight up called my bullshit. Thanks guys. In any case, it turns out Peter is not dead. Not quite.


	10. All that really matters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At last our two narratives become one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello people! Remember me? Ok, so sorry it's taken be a little longer than usual, there was some actual writing to be done in this chapter and I had a busy weekend. On the other hand, the chapter's quite a decent length. If you need to, re-read the previous chapter to remind you of what's happened to Peter. We are back now to Michelle's point of view, approximately six hours after that. Enjoy!

MJ wasn't a claustrophobic person, but these vents were setting her teeth on edge. Her breathing was shallow and fast, and at the first gleam of light she doubled the pace of her crawling/slithering (honestly there wasn't even enough space to crawl properly in here) and lay with her face on the cool metal, breathing in the scent of...whatever that was. Ok, that room stank. She quickly lifted her head and moved on, convinced that she was still on Peter's trail.

She just hoped that when she found him, she'd know what to do. And also that Ned would come quickly. Where was he now? Being questioned again by those men? Taken away by the police? Or still trapped in that tiny cell? If only she could reach her phone, she could call him, but that would have to wait until she got out of these vents

The trail of dried blood that lined the tunnels was also starting to get to her. How much blood could one person actually lose? Surely, with his super healing, Peter was better off than most, but what if it wasn't enough?

The next vent was open, the metal grating clumsily shoved to the other side of the square hole through which MJ could see a small, empty office.

The keyboard was broken, and there was a telling smear of blood on the edge of the desk.

Heart in mouth, MJ carefully lowered herself onto the desk and hopped down onto the floor, looking around for any sign of her friend. She checked the door to the corridor outside, but it was locked. Still, there were lights on in the room across the hall, so perhaps someone would have a spare key to let them out. She didn't fancy being locked in an office until the police found her again.

Looking round the rest of the room, she spotted a door at the other side which looked like it opened onto a small store cupboard by the size of the indent into the layout of the room. Following through on the logic, she dashed over and swung the door open, hitting the light switch on the way.

After all that she and Ned had been through to get here, MJ was still not ready for the sight that lay before her. Not ready in the slightest.

Spider-Man lay motionless on the blue carpeted floor, riddled with more injuries than MJ dared count. His mask was halfway up his face, and the skin beneath looked so pale it was almost grey. Blood stained the carpet in several places around him. His hands and feet were zip-tied, and _oh god this didn't look good._

Swallowing an involuntary hiccup of shock, MJ fell to her knees beside him and carefully lifted the rest of the mask off Spiderman's face.

Peter's eyes were closed, his hair damp with sweat and his eyebrows pinched slightly as if he were in pain, even when sleeping. Just to check he _was_ sleeping and not...something worse...she held up the screen of her phone to his lips and was relieved when a small amount of mist formed on it. She had not been too late. But Peter was not in a good way, and now that it came to it, she had no idea what to do.

_Think, MJ, think!_

She needed to get help, but she couldn't call an ambulance. She couldn't imagine them being very understanding about the whole secret identity thing. Ned wasn't here, so this was on her. If only Peter would wake up! What was the first thing you were meant to do with an injured person? They'd had about half an hour of first aid training in a biology lesson, and all she could remember was the recovery position. But if there was possibility of a spinal injury, you weren't meant to move them, right? At least she could cut the ties on his hands and feet. After rummaging through her bag, she came up with some scissors and swiftly freed her friend's limbs.

How long had Peter even been here? She imagined him stumbling through the doorway, injured and confused and alone, then sinking down here at the very end with no one to help him or even offer a word of comfort. _This shouldn't have happened._ Where was Tony Stark when Peter needed him? Why hadn't the suit called for help? It was meant to be cram-packed with tech, wasn't it?

Angry tears coming to her eyes, MJ called the number that redirected her to FRIDAY. The computer would know what to do.

"Hello Michelle. This is the second time you have called me today. What can I help you with this time?"

"It's Peter, I've found him, I found Peter," MJ started, her voice coming out more shakily than she intended, "but he's hurt, and oh god I don't know what to do he's barely alive and I don't even know what they did to him _please_ help me I don't know what to do..."

"Informing Mr Stark. Alerting medical team. I am programmed with all the most up-to-date first aid procedures. Would you like me to talk you through them?"

"Y-yes, yes please," breathed MJ, willing her racing heart to take it a little easier.

"Is your patient responsive?"

"I...I don't think so..."

"Check if patient responds to voice or pain."

"Pain? What do you-"

"A pinch on the ear should be sufficient."

Unconvinced, MJ leaned forward and gently pinched Peter's ear. To her surprise, his breathing hitched and he let out a small noise, his face flinching a little.

"Peter?"

No answer.

"Peter, it's me, it's MJ. It's ok, someone's coming to get you, it'll be alright. I-" she broke off, feeling the uncertainty behind her words. "FRIDAY, he's not responsive, what do I d-"

"Hello?"

MJ startled at the voice that suddenly cut in at the other end. That sounded like Tony Stark speaking? Her throat closed off and she found she couldn't say anything.

"Martha? Mary? Peter's friend, right?" Tony Stark asked, sounding way too calm for it to be natural, especially since she could hear explosions coming from his end of the phone.

"Michelle," she managed to choke out.

"Right, Michelle. How's Peter, is he ok?"

Iron Man sounded really exhausted, and the noises really sounded as if he were currently in a battle. Still, that didn't stop MJ from snapping.

"No he's NOT ok, thanks to you! I thought you were meant to be looking out for him! And now he's in some office I have no idea where, unconscious and bleeding out on the carpet! I don't even know how long he's been here! I had to crawl through the vent system to find him, and I think he might have fallen off a roof at some point, and he's been shot who knows how many times plus I'm pretty sure his arm's broken and there's a gash on his side where I can see his ribs and oh god how could you let him _do_ this?! Isn't there some protocol where you send backup before things get bad? Or is he just another empty suit of armour protecting New York?"

She broke off with an angry sob, quickly wiping the tears from her cheeks. Mr Stark's end of the phone still echoed with blasts and shouts, and she made out someone else's words, "Tony, are you ok?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm-" Tony's voice dismissed the other person's concerns, before ending in a whisper that MJ knew she wasn't supposed to hear, "-not okay, definitely not ok."

"Mr Stark?" she inquired hesitantly.

"Yeah, sorry," his voice perked back up to its usual business-like manner, a suit of armour just as real as the one he fought in, "so it's bad, huh? FRIDAY, has a medical team been deployed to her position?"

"Medical team is en route, accompanied by May Parker," echoed FRIDAY's voice.

"Well hurry the fuck up, Peter doesn't have all day," Stark snapped. "Okay Michelle, you listen here and do exactly what I say. Ready?"

MJ nodded. "Ready."

"Okay. Have you checked his breathing? Use a pair of glasses, or something."

"His breathing's normal, I did that," MJ replied quickly, "what next?"

"Check for bleeding. His healing usually deals with that pretty quickly, but if you find any, put pressure on it."

MJ did as he said, checking thoroughly for bleeding, especially where she could see a stain on the carpet, but despite the grisly wounds she could find no evidence of current bleeding; everywhere there was a cut there was a thick, ugly scab forming, often sticking to the suit. That was going to be a pig to take off. Still, MJ was thankful at that moment for Peter's enhanced healing capacity. He probably wouldn't still be here if it wasn't for that.

"All the bleeding's stopped," she informed Mr Stark down the phone.

"Good. That's good." The billionaire sounded immensely relieved. "Okay, now you need to check for shock, which honestly you can pretty much assume at this point. Keep him warm until help comes. The suit circuitry has to be dead or I would have heard something, which probably means the heating circuits are fried too so he's basically wearing nothing but spandex. If he wakes up, keep him awake and talking. That's all the help I can give you at this point. You gonna be ok?"

"Yeah, I'll...I'll keep him warm," MJ promised, already shrugging off her jacket. "Thanks, Mr Stark."

"No problem, just glad Peter's got good friends. Gotta go now, keep him safe."

The line cut, and MJ let the phone drop to the floor, hardly believing what had just happened.

_Back to work,_ her brain reminded her. Keep him warm.

Gently, she draped her jacket around Peter's shoulders, frowning at how completely inadequate it looked. Why couldn't she have worn a knee-length coat or something today? Brushing the back of Peter's gloved hand, she shivered at the lack of heat radiating off it and knew she had to think of something better.

Suddenly and quite unexpectedly she felt Peter's finger twitch slightly in her hand. Hardly daring to hope, MJ reached up and tapped him on the collarbone.

"Peter?"

Two bleary eyes blinked open in confusion. MJ could have danced for joy.

"M'chelle?"

"Ohmygod Peter you actually woke up!" she blurted out, "it's ok, there's a medical team on the way or something - shit, how are you feeling?"

"Ow," was Peter's response, his expression clouded with pain. He shivered. "Cold."

"You picked a bad spot, then," MJ admitted, "there's not a single warm thing in this office. Not even proper curtains."

"H-how did you-"

"How did we find you?"

Peter nodded, though it was such a small movement MJ almost missed it.

"Ned got the photo you sent. We went from there. You're shivering - um, do you have any back injuries? Or anything that shouldn't move?"

Peter grimaced at that. "Back's fine. Arm's bad. Ankle hurts."

MJ nodded, having seen the arm for herself though she had missed the ankle in her check for blood earlier. "Okay, no back injuries, that's good. I'm still stuck for ideas about the cold." She herself was starting to get a little cold without her jacket, but before she could worry too much about it her phone started ringing. She picked it up in a split-second.

"Ned? Did you get away? I found Peter!"

"Good, where are you? I managed to bash the door through with the corner of the vent cover but now I'm a bit lost."

He sounded out of breath as well. MJ wondered if he'd been running.

"We're still on the second floor but a fair way from the room, it's a small office and there are people across the hall, you probably don't want to disturb them. The door's locked but I can try and open it from the inside."

"Ok, I'll be there as soon as I can. If I don't get caught."

"Good luck."

She ended the call then looked apologetically at Peter. "I need to let Ned in. Don't die while I'm gone, deal?"

"Deal," Peter smiled weakly.

There was a mechanism for opening the door from the inside, but it wouldn't budge until MJ stuck a hairpin through one of the holes in the side. She swung the door open just as Ned came jogging round the corridor, hair askew and one shoelace undone.

"I'm not even going to ask," she said as he rushed through the door, letting it snap closed behind him.

"Where's Peter?"

She led him briskly back to the store cupboard where she got to witness from an outside perspective the series of emotions that she had displayed upon first seeing Peter.

"Oh my god..." Ned's voice was an octave higher than usual.

Peter managed to raise his head slightly. "Hey, man."

Ned dropped to his knees where he cupped Peter's face and pressed a hand to his forehead. "He's so cold."

"Yeah, unless you want to build a fire out of admin documents there's not much to keep you warm in here," said MJ, "but hey, now you're here you can donate a hoodie."

"Dammit, Peter, why'd you have to be a superhero?" Ned chastised with the unquestionable air of a mother hen, zipping off his hoodie without complaint and tucking it round Peter's conspicuously small form on top of MJ's jacket.

"T-thanks," muttered Peter, relaxing slightly and managing a genuine smile for his two best friends.

"You have no idea how relieved I am that you're alive," Ned confessed, sliding down into a cross-legged position against the bookshelves that crowded the store cupboard, "like, we kept finding bullets and bloodstained elevators and stuff, it was like something out of Sherlock but not one with a good ending."

"The med people shouldn't be long," MJ told Ned, "I talked to Tony Stark."

"Wait you talked to Tony?" Peter exclaimed, his voice still weak but the warmth of Ned's hoodie clearly having a positive effect.

"Yeah," said MJ, "and I may have shouted at him, but he seemed pretty concerned, actually."

"You shouted at _Tony Stark?"_ Ned clarified with awe, as Peter groaned.

"He's going to kill me..."

MJ looked sharply at him. "Why would he do that?"

"Do you have any idea how much this suit is worth?"

"Dude, he's not going to care about that, he's _Tony Stark,"_ pointed out Ned, "and besides, he cares about you more. I can tell. In fact I'm surprised he's not here by now."

"He sounded pretty busy on the phone," MJ conceded, "like, large-ish battle with explosions type busy."

"Holy shit," Ned gasped, while Peter looked suddenly worried.

"Don't fret, I'm sure he's doing just fine," MJ continued quickly, "better than you are, anyway."

Peter sighed and relaxed, his moment of alertness drifting away as exhaustion overtook him.

"Hope he's 'kay," he murmured with his eyes drifting closed.

"Hey, hey, don't fall asleep," Michelle ordered sharply. When there was no response from Peter, she reached over and tapped his shoulder.

Peter flinched suddenly at the contact, his eyes flying open and clouding with pain before focusing once more.

"Geez MJ, be careful!" exclaimed Ned, hovering protectively over Peter. MJ deflated in guilt, the corners of her mouth downturned as she shifted away.

"No, m'fine," Peter argued weakly.

"Liar," Ned frowned immediately, then asked Michelle, "Why does he have to stay awake anyway?"

She shrugged, still half turned-away. "Mr Stark said so. Keep him awake and talking. I'm sorry, you know, I didn't mean to-"

"Shuddup, s'ok," Peter cut her off, wriggling his right hand out from under the hoodie in a gesture for MJ to come closer. Reluctantly she turned back and shuffled up beside Ned, taking Peter's hand as gently as she could to avoid moving the last two fingers which looked horribly swollen.

Ned, clearly feeling left out in this, carefully brushed his hand through Peter's hair. "So. What do you want to talk about?"

When Peter did not reply, his expression relaxing into sleep once more, MJ squeezed his wrist a little and his eyes cracked open a fraction, his breath hitching.

"Sorry, m'tired," he mumbled, almost too quietly to hear, "hurts."

"I know, I know," MJ replied softly, "but you need to keep talking. What's the best movie you've seen recently?"

But Peter's breathing had evened out and nothing they did would wake him. So much for following that instruction. Ned glanced at Michelle, his expression frightened.

"He'll be alright," she said, to reassure herself as much as Ned. "We just have to sit with him until the paramedics come."

Ned sighed and leaned back. "I always thought Peter being Spiderman was awesome. I never even thought of this. I guess I assumed superheroes were invincible."

"No one's invincible, Ned," MJ answered solemnly, "not even the best of us."

"I know," Ned acknowledged, "and I wish I didn't."

They lapsed into silence for a few moments then, until Ned spoke again.

"Peter knew."

"What?"

"Peter has known for a long time. That people aren't invincible. He lost his parents."

"I thought he lost his uncle?"

"Him too. He's lost a lot of people."

MJ felt like she was just beginning to understand Peter's need to help people. She nudged Ned with her shoulder. "It's a good job he's got you then."

Ned looked at her in surprise. "He's got you too, you know that right? There's no backing out of it now."

Smiling slightly, she thought for a moment before saying, "you know, I never really cared about people before."

Silent confusion met her statement. Quickly, she clarified.

"I mean like individual people rather than people in general. I always wanted to do good for the world generally, but the humans I met in real life never meant that much to me. Even my family - of course I love them, but in a sort of compulsory way. It's not as if I picked any of them. I don't know, I've just never been a people person. And now I've got friends. It's kind of weird."

"Yeah, I don't think this is usually the type of thing friends do for each other," Ned nodded to Peter whose face had finally relaxed enough that you wouldn't even know he was injured but for the pallor of his skin. "But what would I know? Peter's the only proper friend I ever had. I've got nothing to base my expectations off."

"Yeah, for all you know, everyone's friends go round in tights fighting bad guys," Michelle smirked, then sobered. "I just hope he can still go out in tights and beat up bad guys, after this."

Ned nodded. "It means a lot to him. He'll be fine. He'll make it through somehow, he always does."

There was a note of hesitation in her friend's voice that made MJ wonder how much Ned really believed what he said. It was true, Peter had bounced back from a lot, but she doubted he'd ever been through something quite like this, and while the desperate search was over, there was still plenty of worry churning in the depths of her stomach. With Peter's hand still in hers, she subtly rested two fingers against his wrist where a faint but real pulse could be felt. For now, Peter was alive, and that was all that really mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, that was a lot of deep and meaningful conversation. What did you think of the chapter? What are your thoughts on the tiny bit of Tony that I teased you with? (Don't worry, there will be plenty more Tony later) I'd love to hear your thoughts!


	11. Feelings? What feelings?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Much talking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...it's been a while. Okay, a week isn't a very long time, but I'm sorry you had to wait so long! Basically this chapter involved writing which I hadn't already done, and combined with life in general it didn't get done very fast. I'm blaming it on the fact that most of this chapter is a long conversation between two characters who are both exponentially smarter than I am. Seriously, how am I meant to write this stuff? Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

Five minutes later felt like a lifetime, but eventually faint footsteps echoed closer and closer.

"There's someone outside," Ned breathed. MJ nodded, releasing Peter's hand in favour of peering round the door. Out in the corridor she could see three people: two of them looked medical, and the third she recognised as Peter's aunt.

"They're here," she stated, then ran to the door, opening it quicker this time since she knew how to do it. "He's in here!"

May was the quickest to follow, rushing into the tiny cupboard and visibly paling as she dropped down beside Peter, letting Ned sidle out to allow the medics in.

"Oh Peter, honey, I...they..." May didn't manage to continue before her chin wobbled and her expression collapsed entirely. Peter stirred but didn't wake, as May sobbed and hid her face in her hands. Ned put an arm round her shoulders supportively, guiding her out of the cupboard to allow the pair of paramedics in.

"It's okay May, he'll be fine, you'll see."

"I should never have let him go out," May hiccuped, trying to dry her face with a tissue and smudging her makeup in the process. "I should have known this would happen."

"It's not your fault," Ned asserted, patting her on the back awkwardly, "you couldn't have known this would happen, none of us could. There's nothing you could have done."

Blowing her nose hard, May smiled gratefully at her nephew's friend. "Thank you Ned. I'm glad Peter has you."

Unnoticed, MJ leaned against the wall with a shrug, completely fine with being excluded. She'd had enough sharing of deep emotional turmoil for one day. When the two paramedics emerged from the cupboard ten minutes later, Peter bundled up on a stretcher and still completely out of it, she followed them to the unadorned Avengers medical van without a word.

###### 

The journey was mostly silent, with only the occasional sniff from Ned, who apparently had a cold. MJ wasn't convinced. She herself had got her jacket back and was now sitting sideways at the very back of the van, hollowly watching Peter's chin - the only part of him she could see that wasn't covered in a large orange blanket.

She had never been to the Avengers institute before, but she had to admit it was moderately impressive. The medical facility was round the back, so they didn't get to go in through the shiny glass doors but she snapped a few pictures on her phone anyway.

May and Ned followed the stretcher closely as the paramedics hurried Peter into an operating theatre but MJ hung back, knowing she had done her bit and Peter didn't need her now. Her stomach growled unexpectedly and she glanced at her phone. 14:21. No wonder she was hungry, she hadn't even thought about lunch yet. There was a sandwich in her bag, but somehow she couldn't bear the thought of eating it outside a medical room on a hard plastic seat, staring through the glass as people in masks pieced Peter back together.

At the next intersection, she watched the others turn left, paused for a moment, then slipped off to the right. No one was around, and no one saw her leave, not even Ned. At the end of the corridor a door opened for her and she found herself in a high-tech elevator with not a button in sight.

"Greetings Miss Jones."

The sudden voice of FRIDAY had MJ jumping out her skin, before she laughed nervously and realised the elevator was voice operated.

"FRIDAY? Is there a kitchen or something in this place?"

"As Peter's friend you have access to: three kitchens," replied FRIDAY helpfully.

"Oh ok, wow," said MJ, "take me to the one where I'm least likely to run into people, then."

"As you wish," FRIDAY announced, sliding the doors closed.

The kitchen was small and clearly not a communal space, but it was also incredibly comfortable; the fridge was bare which made her wonder whether anyone used this particular kitchen on a regular basis, or whether they were away, however a small couch sat at one end pointing to a TV mounted on the wall, and it was onto this couch that MJ sank, rummaging through her bag until she found her sandwich.

Peter's bloodstained t-shirt was in there. Huh. She'd forgotten about that.

"FRIDAY, do you get updates on Peter?" she asked the empty air, feeling a little stupid.

"I am currently processing five-minute updates on Peter Parker, by request of Mr Stark," replied FRIDAY's disembodied voice from somewhere around the room.

"Can you let me know when he's not being sewn up like Frankenstein's monster any more?"

"I can inform you when he leaves the operating theatre."

"That'll do."

She checked her phone again, taking a bite of her long-overdue sandwich. One text from Ned.

_Where did you go?_

She quickly wrote back,

_Exploring. Don't let me miss anything fun._

Then, tossing the phone back in her bag, she switched on the TV and let her brain go numb.

###### 

It had to be at least an hour later when she heard footsteps in the corridor followed by the kitchen door swinging open. Peeling her eyes off the screen and muting the sound, she turned to see Tony Stark leaning against the doorway looking as sharp-eyed as he ever did in public, emotions behind a shield of steel and titanium, but with an air of weariness about him that he never usually carried.

"So you're the one who shouted at me, huh?" He walked into the kitchen with a slight limp and proceeded to start making coffee.

MJ fixed him with an unimpressed look. "Aren't you supposed to be battling alien baddies or something?"

"Not alien this time, just a mad scientist who thought she could take over the world," Stark replied casually, "but boy was she a pain in the ass to take down. Haven't slept since Monday."

MJ folded her arms. She could tell he was making excuses for not being there for Peter. Which, fair enough, he had some good ones, but she was glad he still felt guilty.

"So what's the deal?" Stark turned around, coffee cup in hand, and leant against the countertop. "You hiding from someone?"

"Are you?"

Stark seemed taken aback. He shrugged and took a sip of his scalding coffee. "I only asked a question."

"Have you even seen Peter yet?" MJ asked accusingly.

The billionaire frowned. "And why aren't you waiting in the room downstairs with May and Ned like a normal concerned friend? Why'd you have to bust into Peter's kitchen?"

MJ choked at the words "Peter's kitchen". Peter had a whole kitchen to himself in this place? Holy shit.

Then again, with the breakup of the Avengers, she guessed this whole place was more empty than it was meant to be.

"I just..." She began answering Stark's question, too surprised to think of a witty comeback, "I don't belong down there, with May and Ned. They've always been there for him. I'm just a recent tag-along."

"How d'you think I feel, kid?" replied Tony, making MJ frown in confusion.

"What do you mean?"

Stark shrugged, clearly debating something internally. "Well I'm just the guy who makes the high tech gizmos that mean Peter can throw himself into more danger, aren't I? I used to only worry about myself, Pepper, and occasionally the world. Now I screw up and this happens but hell if I know how to fix it because Peter could have _died_ and that would have been on me. _I should have been there."_

MJ observed as Stark's free hand curled into a fist, the coffee shaking in his other. Quietly she pulled out a sketchbook. "So you came here to rant instead?" she said matter-of-factly. "You seem pretty messed up for a man who pretends not to have emotions."

"Yeah? Well maybe they're not entirely independent of each other. Occupational hazard. Everything you get attached to inevitably blows up or falls off a cliff. You learn to take a step back."

"So that's what you're doing?" MJ shifted in her seat, eyes burning into Stark. "Taking a step back from Peter?"

"No, already tried that, didn't work out," said Tony tightly, sipping his coffee, "I was trying to be better. I told myself I'd be there if Peter needed _anything,_ because he's putting his life in danger for other people every single day and the least I can do is help him out when things go bad. Where was I this time? Someone shot Peter and I didn't even know about it. Someone nearly killed him and I didn't even blink until your phone call. How much of an asshole can I be?" He paused. "Hold on, why am I telling you this?"

"Because you have a lot of feelings and you need to throw them somewhere?" MJ offered blandly.

"Feelings? Who needs feelings?" Stark dumped his mug in the sink and began to pace the tiny room.

"Maybe you should go see a psychiatrist," suggested MJ, pencil moving lightly over the page in front of her.

"Great, now I'm being counselled by a ten year old. I didn't come in here to talk about myself, strange as that may seem. Why don't you go and sit with Ned? He's your friend too, right?"

"While you do what? Mope in a lab somewhere?" MJ shot back.

"Or is it something different?" Stark leaned against the wall and watched her shrewdly. "Something tells me you care an awful lot for a recent tag-along."

"I care a lot about a lot of things," MJ monotoned, "What do you care about?"

"Hypothetical question: if you could go back in time and pick whether that spider bit Peter of not, what would you choose?"

It was a difficult question but in an instant MJ knew which one she would pick, even if she wished it could be another way. "Peter does too much good as Spiderman for me to take that away. I wish it didn't have to be him, but if it was a choice between him and all the people he saves, the math answers the question already. It's the trolley problem."

"And non-hypothetically? When it comes down to it, are you really okay with the risks Peter takes?"

"Now you're asking about feelings. Like you said, who needs feelings? You didn't just come up here to escape your parental responsibilities, did you?"

"Wait a sec, who said anything about parental-"

"Do all Peter's friends get the overbearing-Dad-interrogation or is it only the cute ones?"

"It's only the ones who ditch their friend duties the minute Peter isn't going to notice."

Ouch. That stung. Michelle fixed Stark with a hard look. "I care a lot about a lot of things. I'm not used to those things being people."

Tony folded his arms, something akin to sympathy in his eyes. "Well then, let me share some advice. Caring about people isn't something you choose, and it usually ends in someone getting hurt. Make sure that person isn't Peter."

Eyes flaring, she bit out, "Some people confuse my attitude for tactlessness. I'm never clumsy."

Observing for a brief second, Tony gave a single nod. "I believe that. Whaddyou think, Fri?"

"I think that you're impressed and trying to hide it, Sir," the disembodied voice of the AI replied blandly.

Tony threw his hands in the air. "Remind me who you work for again? ...don't actually answer that. Fine." He turned his attention back to Michelle and folded his arms again. "Fine. You're smart. You'll do. But don't forget this conversation."

MJ smiled wryly. "No, I don't think I will forget it." Quietly she closed her sketchbook, and watched as Stark made for the door. The split second before he would be out of sight, she called after him, "Does Peter know?"

A pause. "Know what?"

"How much you care?"

Another pause. Then, footsteps fading away. So that was how it was. It was the reply MJ had expected. What she hadn't expected were the feelings that came rushing in the moment she was left alone.

Somehow, though she'd tried her best to run away from it, she cared about people. Whatever. But why, out of all the people, did she have to pick a dorky, accident-prone superhero? At this rate, she'd be grey before she hit twenty. And perhaps ditching Ned earlier had been a selfish move. Should she go back now? Perhaps she'd better. But not because Tony Stark had pressured her to. Not even because she was a good friend. She was a shit friend. She'd just been away long enough and thought it was time to go back.

As she stood in the elevator contemplating the entire conversation, her thoughts kept returning to one thing. Tony Stark cared. A lot. In the media he was very good at hiding his feelings beneath a suave and confident persona, but for five minutes just then he'd been an open book, and she had actually been surprised at what she found. Her own dad certainly didn't care about her that much. _Oh my god, Tony Stark aka Iron Man was like Peter's unofficial surrogate dad._ She wondered how May felt about that. Did May even know? Did _Peter_ even know? This was crazy.

It was reassuring, though, knowing that Peter had someone like that on his side. And maybe if Tony Stark could manage a few emotions, so could she.

The doors slid open and MJ found herself on the ground floor again. After Friday told her where to find May and Ned, she made her way through the Avengers compound with very little thought for anything but Peter. Stark had been right - it was different, with Peter and Ned. When they were all three together they were a single unit, but when she was just with one of the other it was a different vibe, a different relationship. Was this what happened when you made actual friends?

When she walked into the waiting room, Ned turned and immediately grinned to see her. The air of the mask-clad professionals who kept coming and going was grim and serious, which she guessed had been grating on her friend's nerves. Ned was a naturally optimistic person. May smiled in welcome, and MJ took a seat in one of the hard orange plastic chairs. With all that money, why on earth didn't Stark get something a little more comfy?

"Did I miss anything exciting?"

Ned shrugged. "A nurse came round with biscuits."

"Dammit."

"It's fine, I saved you one."

"One?"

"Okay, three." Ned tossed her a tin foil wrapped package which she caught with a grin. If she ever wondered why she went to the bother of having friends, this was the answer.


End file.
